Cracks in the Armor
by Worldmage
Summary: Still looking for serious responses... now, with a new and more evil continuation. Knock yourself out.
1. Falling into the Cracks

Disclaimer: This world does not belong to me; I'm merely borrowing it. I do not intend to profit in any monetary way by writing this fanfiction. Besides, you can't sue me because it isn't my fault. I didn't create any of this beside the disclaimers and author's notes. The rest just came to me and demanded to be written.

Disclaimer II: This is a mildly WAFFy darkfic with spoilers. You have been warned.

Cracks in the Armor

For the life of me, I don't know why she was there. There are times when logic just doesn't apply. Even with my college degree, I haven't a clue about how Rei operates. It frightens me. People are usually so easy to figure out and deal with, especially after you look at them through the lens of a 200-level psychology course.

Look at Shinji, for example. Shinji is desperate for attention. I give him attention. I know that most of the time I'm not the best of company. But there are also times when he smiles at the mention of the word "baka." If only he didn't grate on my nerves at all the wrong times, I'm sure I could—

I'm sure we could get along, even better than we do already. Poor Shinji feels abandoned by his mother and father in turn (and dear old "tousan" is a jerk for it, if you ask me—no, whether you ask me or not), so what he wants most is a companion who won't leave him. As soon as I realized this, I thought: "Well, I'm the best around, so there's no danger of Shinji ever losing me. If the end of the world happened, I'd make sure that he and I were the last two people left on Earth." That's what I thought.

People might wonder why Shinji hasn't killed himself yet. It's easy. He's borderline suicidal because he's angry at, and frightened of, the world. All that negative emotion weighs him down. But at the same time, he's too angry at death, and too afraid of it, to even admit that he's considered it. For once, I'm glad of his weakness.

Misato is a bit more complex. She's madly in love with Kaji, which after that night when I—when Shinji and I—

After that first night, when Shinji tried to kiss me and couldn't do it right (and I was understandably upset)—after that first night, I wasn't too sad about Misato and Kaji except she wouldn't admit it! Isn't it pitiful, a grown woman like her refusing to admit her own feelings for someone.

Misato can feel her biological clock ticking. And she refuses to be interested in anybody but Kaji, because she wants him. Yet, she can't break her pride by letting him back into her heart. At the same time, though, her maternal instincts are begging for offspring. So she unofficially adopts us and acts like our mother in all but name. Well, all but name and housekeeping ability, but the signals are all there.

I could go on about Touji's need to be strong for his family, filling in for a largely absent father. Or Kensuke's obsession with all things mechanical and mental as a substitute for his below-average physical abilities. Or Hikari's desire to fill her mother's vacant role as a family caretaker.

But Rei is a mystery. She's so completely withdrawn that the DSM-V would label her as personality disordered. But she acts like she chose that lifestyle on purpose. And is she the commander's doll by choice? What hold does he have on her? I don't pretend to know what directs her actions.

Which is why I inwardly resigned myself to her unexpected presence in Misato's apartment. In MY apartment. It would have been fine, I guess, if I hadn't felt the need to ask her why she was there.

Naturally, she didn't give me a straight answer. She never does. It just makes me angrier every time that damn albino brushes me off like I don't matter. I asked her why she was there, and she just looked at me. Just a cool glance, like I was only so much dirt, and didn't deserve an answer. I asked her if Shinji had invited her over. She said "no" so quietly, I wasn't sure she had spoken. I hate her stupid mind games. After I asked her, she told me that Misato hadn't invited her over either. I knew _I_ hadn't.

"What," I said, "did the high and mighty commander tell you to move out of your dump and stay with us?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell you to burn all that trash your apartment is littered with?"

She remained impassive. "No. Other people will burn it for me."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. What was she thinking? Was she even human? I wanted to know just how far she'd go.

"If the commander told you to destroy everything you ever owned, and burn your entire past, would you do it?"

"Yes."

"If the commander told you to die, would you do it?"

"Yes."

What a damn little good little doll she made. She would have been willing to die with Mama. Would have ripped her own head off and placed it with bloody hands on the floor for Mama to stand on while she tied the cord to the ceiling.

Misato wasn't in the apartment, but her jacket was—and her gun. I pulled it out of the holster and flicked off the safety. "If your life is so worthless, what are you going to do about this?"

Before she could react, I put a neat bullet hole in the wall precisely two centimeters from her left ear. I swear to God, she didn't even blink. "What," I said. "Aren't you afraid to die?" I put another hole to her right. No reaction.

"My life is not important. I am replaceable." She was so calm and quiet, I would have gladly killed her with my bare hands. As it was, I decided right then that I would shoot close enough to make her flinch. I've been taught by the best. At three meters, my aim is good enough to cut her hair with a bullet, but not draw blood.

I didn't even consider what I was doing until the door opened and Shinji walked in. Then time got sort of funny, and realization hit me like a physical attack.

People always talk about time slowing down during a horrible accident. That isn't what happens. It's over before you can blink or breathe. The thing is, a surprisingly large number of thoughts can parade through your mind in the space of a second or two.

The first thing I saw was Shinji looking startled—no, shocked—as he saw me lining up my next hair-trimming shot. Then his face went dead white. His main expression, naturally, was one of full-blown horror at the realization of what it must have looked like I was doing. But I saw something else too: anger.

Something somewhere inside me snapped as I stared at his face, even though the moment only lasted for an instant. It was like a whole world of emotions that I had hidden even from myself was being released into my awareness. I knew immediately that he hated me for my violent, uncaring behavior. He had no choice but to hate me, because all I could do was hurt people.

All I can do is hurt people. I realized at that moment that I'm a monster. I have tortured Shinji more ruthlessly than his father could, more viciously than any Angel has. My offer of companionship only made my other actions crueler. He would be better off alone than with a "fire demon" like me. And at that moment, I hurt Shinji in the worst way possible, for the last time.

I was taught to use handguns by the "third eye" method. In other words, your hand stays raised in front of you, so that you automatically point wherever you look. It works well in combat situations, for which I was trained extensively.

If Shinji hadn't burst in at exactly that moment, I wouldn't have been pulling the trigger for my next near-miss shot at Rei. I wouldn't have felt that horrible sudden knot in my gut, or those tears in my eyes, or the recoil of the gun.

Shinji wouldn't have fallen back out into the hall with a hole in his head.

I dropped the gun. I looked at Shinji's body, which twitched a couple of times and then stopped. I looked back at Rei.

She was still standing against the wall. Motionless. Emotionless. She glanced at the body in the doorway, then stared levelly at me as if to say that she was better than I. Death didn't bother her, after all. She wasn't the monster. She wasn't the murdering demon that I was. She was cold, distant, aloof, and superior.

What Rei did next was the biggest reaction I got out of her in my whole dream. It wasn't much, but it was enough. What drove me, screaming, over the brink right then; what made me pick up Misato's gun; what made me turn the gun on her and then myself and pull the trigger twice more; what finally made me wake up panting, was an action that would have been acceptable from any other person in any other situation.

Rei smiled.

I can hear Misato's quiet snorting in the next room. I can hear the endless whirring of Shinji's SDAT player as he stares at his ceiling, locked in his repeating cycle of anger and fear. I can even hear Pen-pen shift slightly in his compartment. The loudest sound in our apartment by far is the click from Misato's gun as I push the safety to "off."

If I do this, then I will have failed Shinji. Another close… friend, I hope, will have left him. But he'll be minus a tormentor as well. One potential w—friend killed at the same time as his primary source of pain, at least in his home life.

I spent my whole life training to kill monsters. I am strong enough to kill any monster that I find. That's not in question. What worries me, as I look at the gun, is whether I'm strong enough to stop being a monster myself.

I raise the gun and look down the barrel. Looking into the face of death is supposed to help people think more clearly, but all I can hear now is my heartbeat. Nobody can stop me except myself. Can I? Do I want to?

—

Author's Notes: So, does she? It's up to you to decide. You must either pull the trigger, or push her into Misato's bedroom to return the gun. The exact method or pathway chosen may vary, but there are no other options.

Eva has a reputation for inspiring moody and thoughtful fics. So, think about it. If you want to give me your opinion, go ahead. You know how to reach me.

But before you use any of those methods to flame me, I have another note to make. I like Rei. I don't think she's evil at all. So to anybody who thinks I was painting everybody's favorite clone in a bad light: stop. Rei never appears in this fic; we only see Asuka's nightmare of her. Besides, I didn't create this story anyway. It came to me in the shower and wouldn't go away. Now I'll go away, and let you think.

-Worldmage


	2. Aftereffects, Decisions, Repercussions

Disclaimer: NGE is property of Gainax and affiliates

Disclaimer: NGE is property of Gainax and affiliates. I beg leave to use the world and characters for a time, claiming no ownership.

Aftereffects, Decisions, Repercussions

A "Cracks in the Armor" Sequel

The questions are: "can I, and do I want to?" By this, I mean capability and desire: do I have the strength, and do I have the will?

The strength and will to _do_: to act, and live thereby. These are the pillars whose support allows me to survive my life. Would it be right to die by those same rules? I read once that bushidô, the warrior's code, revolved around finding the right place, time, and circumstances for death. Is this the right way? Will I conquer my enemy, my self, by living or by dying?

It's not a new conundrum. When I first began to bleed, nearly two years ago, my meager synch scores fell back to zero. For a month, from moon to moon, I battled with my rage against the machine and my body, and always left the lab defeated.

I went into my guardian's kitchen one night—a night very like this, completely still except for the snoring down the hall—and sat naked in the bathtub with the sharpest knife I could find. I ran the warm water, tensing at every splash, waiting for awakened adults to pour horrified into the room. Nobody stirred.

Looking at the blade, I saw a pair of reddened, smoke-blue eyes glare wearily back. We stared at each other for a long time, the knife and I, both before and after I cut my arm. And as my clean blood trickled out of the scratch and mixed below me with the other blood, she told me the secrets that only knives know; secrets they only whisper in the silent darkness to those who share their soul.

I dropped it into the sullied water before it could reveal the final mystery. But I had already learned that I was weak. Too weak to ask for help of any sort, too weak to drag through the pain into a brighter future, too weak to cut deeply enough. I put the knife away. I drained the bath. I gave up.

This time, though, things have gone too far. The old demons have come back and brought new ones with them. The enemy has taken physical form as Angels. They torture my mind in violent external counterpoint to the inner pain. I can't give up this time, or they will kill me. I'm too strong to be killed by any damn outside force! I'll make a stand here in the landscape of the mind and decide things on my own; just me and the pathetic, vicious girl who clutches her toy and stares back.

The girl holds a stuffed monkey. A stuffed monkey with the head ripped off. A broken doll lies on the floor. The girl holds a knife. The girl holds a gun. The girl _is_ the knife, _is_ the gun. She tore the monkey; she broke the doll. She wants to kill me. She's the only thing that can.

The room is filled with darkness, as if the physical presence of anti-light has rolled mist-like out of pores in the walls and floor. The muzzle of the gun is a round eye, steel-black against the charcoal shades of the apartment. Again, I look into the eye of my enemy, ready to listen to her deadly secrets. I'll hear them all and walk away stronger. I mustn't run away this time; I know what needs to be done. The opponent must be encountered, defeated, discarded as many times as necessary. I don't care if each new moon brings another call for catharsis, as long as _I_ can decide where my path will lead, whether my blood will be washed away, whether I will be washed away with it.

One thumb hovers over the disengaged safety, ready to return me from the steely mirror-shard to reality. All I need to do is prove my worth by listening to the gun's whispers and not giving in. I'm better than her, this time. She might be cooler, might never back down, but all she can do for me now is supply the prophetic voice that redirects my actions into a fuller life. Already I can hear someone speaking—

"It blinked," says Shinji from the doorway, quietly. "You win."

He saw us. As one, she and I look at the young man, and say —!

[…]

Author's Notes: CitA was intended, when I wrote it, to be open-ended. The whole point was to make the reader think about what would or could happen next. Therefore, I must stress that this is NOT the definitive outcome. I can think of at least two other, equally valid, courses that could have been followed. This is just one possible ending that I needed to write. As I've said before, writing fics like this is a very cathartic process. At any rate, this ending is also open. I did that on purpose.

Not being a woman myself, I must apologize for the menstruation references. The theme is an integral part of Asuka's psyche, though, and can't be separated from the rest of her 'angst' without losing something of the whole. Go watch the series if you don't believe me.

-Worldmage


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